Unadulterated truth.

Strip all keeps me afloat, distractions, pretences of a life hoped, vacations from this reality to another and back again to one unrecognised ready to recreate and what I find is a dank hole filled with heaviness, a soul alone, unwanted. This is in me, this is what lies in wait at the core of this person I avoided as far back I know. The lostness of a child spent drifting, not knowing who she was aside inherent belief she must be hateful, wrong to deserve all she's given, what life meant, loneliness and fear plagued her steps into the world. Least of all she knew not what it felt to be cherished enough to be stood by, protected, loved by just one person...that would have been enough. That would still be enough. I carry her like a dulling weight holding me back. She cries in the dark to be held till she breathe that sigh only comes when safe, at last, understood. Seeping into my existence as I push her back, command control over the vulnerable, the hurt. I fight ardently to never let another harm whilst I feed her pain every day in need of removal from terror she feels. It's me she turns, it's me she needs...I would be enough.

The Hard Work of being Lazy

At odds with a society that values busyness, equating with success, vitality and oddly, supremacy. It took a decline in health to force me into learning the art of doing nothing...I knew as an introvert the necessity for time out, slowing down but pressures both internally formed from childhood conditioning and externally won out until they could no longer. After over 10 years I'm still struggling with being 'lazy', a lingering whisper keeps me thinking I'm less than worthy if not being productive, making money....as if production profits the maker more than the 'owner of property'. The word itself is suggestive of weakness, ineptitude or uncaring attitude when in reality and if for the reasons explained in the video, it's healthier, inducing creativity, deeper understanding than appearing to know we are in innovatively in control, of value when we are instead running the treadmill to nowhere worth being other than to have the story of busyness to tell.

It is the most miserable thing to feel ashamed of home....Charles Dickens

Faced opposite with interested black eyes, stinging, enticing as they are, it amuses me tentatively you think I don't know what rules of game you adhere, that you don't know the end has come. I won if objective was freedom from control, to further enhance my stride home the closer I cut tortured strings of rejection keeping me near, dismissal for not providing your needs required...for being my honestly complex self with easiness. I am not the slightest ashamed of where or how I choose to live, I am with heartfelt gratitude for knowing my strength in line with weakness, passion, efforts afforded in creating a just world if fairness only lies within my own sphere.

I simply choose not to reveal all to you as witness I learnt how you use information I provide, adding weight to your needy assumptions of who I am...your projections mashed with inflated sense of self worth only standing scrutiny by way of belittling your challenger, I'd wager.

I am, my darling, too large in stature from years of building residence on solid foundation to be crushed by such transparent insecurity I see in you. That you don't recognise me is your abject failure, lost game even if saddened myself over liberation from sensuous gain. I shall take those eyes deep in story belonging only to you along my journey anew, your kiss gentle to my embittered bite as I will my self saved identity in fluid tact. Friend as I am to you I said should you want endures...I doubt you will want.